


Beyond (Along, Above, Behind) the Barricade

by wildestranger



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4086160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildestranger/pseuds/wildestranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras does not regret the manner of his death. Nor does he regret sharing it with Grantaire – an unlooked-for companion, but one whose hand had created a sweetness in his last moment that Enjolras had not expected. Grantaire, unexpectedly brave but not unexpectedly kind, had stood with him when he faced the enemy. It is reasonable, Enjolras reminds himself, it is just, that he should stand with him in the afterlife.</p><p>But Grantaire in the afterlife is much like Grantaire in life; full of words but rarely filled with sense. Keen, above all, to provoke Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond (Along, Above, Behind) the Barricade

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when someone (neonsmile) draws attention to the large flagpole next to Enjolras in the Big Barricade in the Sky. Thanks to the lovely liseuse for beta!

Enjolras does not regret the manner of his death. Nor does he regret sharing it with Grantaire – an unlooked-for companion, but one whose hand had created a sweetness in his last moment that Enjolras had not expected. Grantaire, unexpectedly brave but not unexpectedly kind, had stood with him when he faced the enemy. It is reasonable, Enjolras reminds himself, it is just, that he should stand with him in the afterlife.

But Grantaire in the afterlife is much like Grantaire in life; full of words but rarely filled with sense. Keen, above all, to provoke Enjolras. 

“…the strength of your arms I do not doubt – no one could after witnessing the exuberance with which you whirled your flag at the General’s funeral – but I suspect even you might grow tired after a while, and there are some alternatives available. Don’t think I have not seen you examine the pole on your right with calculating eyes. It is very large. Very impressive in both length and girth. Do you not dream of placing your flag to fly from such a height? Does not the thought fill you with revolutionary fervor?”

It would be unworthy of him to push Grantaire off the barricade. Besides, Combeferre has told him that he is not allowed. Enjolras turns to Grantaire, and attempts to hide his frustration. Experience has shown that it only invites him to grow more aggravating.

“If your arms begin to waver, Grantaire, you may put your flag down.”

Grantaire rests his pole against the barricade, and adopts a less upright pose. It annoys Enjolras, as it did in life. As in life, Grantaire seems to perform it for just that purpose.

“If you fear it would be beneath your dignity to be seen climbing the pole, I would be happy to assist. I have no dignity to lose.”

Enjolras does not doubt that, nor does he doubt that their friends would happily urge him on. Grantaire has a talent for disrupting revolutionary business, for turning serious young men into buffoons. He is always laughing, and they all want to laugh with him. 

“You need only to say, Apollo. You know I am yours to command.”

There is a glint in Grantaire’s eye, as if he is telling a jest which he does not expect Enjolras to understand. But Enjolras understands quite well; he cannot command Grantaire and expect to be obeyed. If he could, their relations would be considerably more peaceful.

“Could I command you to remain silent? Or at least, to talk sense?”

He knows this is unkind – his friends have told him so often enough – but Grantaire pushes him beyond his better self. That said, Grantaire never seems to mind. He is still smiling at Enjolras, still leaning on one hip and pushing the other forward, and looking at Enjolras with some consideration. 

That never ends well.

“Oh, nothing could make me speak sense, but you could _keep_ me silent. You would have to exert your person, though.”

Your person, not yourself; _oh._ Grantaire sees his understanding on his face, and winks. That, Enjolras decides, is enough; he grabs Grantaire by the arm, ignoring the little noise that escapes Grantaire’s mouth, and drags him along the barricade. There must be privacy to be had somewhere. 

It takes him a while to find some, though; first a lengthy climb down the barricade, then a search for a quiet corner among the buildings and the ruins of this curious afterlife. His hand is tight on Grantaire’s arm all the while, but there are no complaints; Enjolras notes that his fingers fit precisely around it. Grantaire moves easily with him, and it is not likely that he would try to escape now. Still, letting go does not occur to him.

At last, he finds something: an unoccupied colonnade encircling an empty house, with a corner between its destroyed gate and the inner balustrade. He pushes Grantaire in and follows; they are out of earshot, and out of sight. 

Grantaire does not look discomfited, or like he has just been dragged through a crowd. He leans against the wall, a pose which brings his legs forward and threatens to mingle them with Enjolras’s own. But this is not what he should pay attention to; he has a lecture to deliver and a friendship to save. Enjolras is aware that his gifts of oratory do not tend to work on Grantaire. He has tried before, and only faced mockery.

But they should be different now. They died holding hands; there is a sanctity there that Enjolras does not wish to damage. Finally, he sighs, and rubs his eyes. There is no point in asking why Grantaire is like he is.

His silence lasts longer than he intended; there are words that come to mind, but they would only lead to further strife. Grantaire is skilled in twisting all he says into something it should not be.

But Grantaire, it seems, is also getting bored.

“Well, dear leader, have you not a diatribe to deliver? I am disgracing the barricade, disgracing the memory of those who died for the revolution, and I should be shunned by all right-thinking people. I should definitely stop discussing the size of your flagpole, as I’m not sure Joly will be able to contain his laughter much longer. I am not one of you and I do not belong to your heaven – in honesty, I was expecting to find myself in some hell reserved for drunkards, but somehow you pulled me here. An error, no doubt, which will soon be corrected.”

A bored Grantaire is a Grantaire who allows his mind to lead him astray, and this is a sadness Enjolras has heard before. Before, he thought it unkind – he is aware that Grantaire is unkind to himself but never to his friends – but not inaccurate. Now he knows better.

“There is no error; you joined us at the barricade and gave your life for the revolution. This is where you ought to be.”

Grantaire smiles, but he does not look happy.

“A revolutionary heaven filled with brave republicans? Not, I think, the place for me. I will fit better with the drunks and cowards – some dirty tavern, with low ceilings and cheap wine, a hell or a heaven for the likes of me.”

Enjolras watches Grantaire’s thoughts turn inward, not in private jest but in private jeer. He steps closer, a distraction which works to draw Grantaire’s attention. Now he must keep from being distracted himself.

Aggravation. That will do. Enjolras frowns at Grantaire, and sees the expected smirk form in response.

“You have more courage than you claim; you showed that when you chose to face the bullets instead of hiding. Therefore, this excuse no longer works – you are capable of being brave. A coward would not have joined me in death.”

Grantaire laughs.

“Oh, I am the worst of cowards. It is only with you that I could not help myself.”

“Perhaps you should hold to that, then. I am content to keep you by my side if it keeps you brave.”

It is not what he thought he would say when he dragged Grantaire with him; the opposite even, for the situation was getting unbearable. But he, too, can keep to a higher standard.

“Perhaps you should.”

Enjolras nods; this is better, and now he can move on, move away from where Grantaire’s knees are brushing perilously close against his. But Grantaire seems to think something different, for he pushes himself off the wall, pushes up against Enjolras, and pulls his head down.

“I have not thought I could be brave with this, but you have persuaded me. I hope you are prepared to face the consequences.”

The mouth that touches his is cold at first; their revolutionary heaven is lacking warmth for a June day. But it turns warm quickly and Enjolras grows warm with it. He finds himself opening, allowing Grantaire to turn him around and press against him, press him against the wall. There is no air is his lungs and he does not care, for what is breathing when there is this to be done with mouths and lips. Enjolras rubs his thigh against Grantaire’s, and shudders at the responding bite; on his lips, his jaw, his throat.

“Enjolras?”

Combeferre’s voice, usually an interruption of warmth into his arid thoughts, is not welcome. Enjolras would be content to ignore it, but Grantaire hears and pulls back.

Combeferre is smiling. The girl from the barricade, attached awkwardly to his arm, smiles also. Her smile does not mock, precisely, but it causes Enjolras to flush nevertheless.

“My friends, we are leaving. I have been told there is a place beyond this barricade where we can rest in more comfort. We are all making our way there now.”

Grantaire nods. “And we will follow,” he says, apparently still capable of speech. Coherent speech, at that. Enjolras would not dare to try his own voice right now.  
His friend and the girl leave. Enjolras is left propped against the wall, his legs still intertwined with Grantaire’s. He does not know what to say.

But Grantaire, watching him with a mouth curving to happiness, a mouth still so close, seems to have found something. He takes Enjolras’s hand, and tilts his face, an unvoiced question.

_Do you permit this?_

Last time, Enjolras had not thought to speak and had not needed to; his clasp on Grantaire’s fingers had been answer enough. This time, he allows a different feeling to overwhelm him, and uses their joined hands to pull Grantaire’s closer, to entangle him again, to kiss him. It is not a question, he decides, that should need to be asked again.


End file.
